LotR: The Fourth Age (IC)

[Mordae]

Year Six of the Shire reckoning. 8th Astron. Sterday. Bree. The Prancing Pony. Seven o'clock in the evening.

Rarely, in the years gone by when the threat of Angmar loomed large from the north, or the shadow of Mordor crept long from the east, would one find the little inn in the little town on the outskirts of the Shire to be so pleasant, filled with warmth and light, crossed with the smells of fresh baked bread and honey-mead and roast pork and pipeweed, alive with a thousand smiles and how-do-you-dos and conversations. The High King sat upon his throne in Gondor; peace had come to the West. So even as the chill of winter clung stubbornly to the spring air of wild Eriador without, within the walls of the Prancing Pony it was already summer.

Among all the people gathered on the evening of the first day of the week, with the hobbits bustling about underfoot of the men and dwarves, there were a scant few who commanded attention well and above the rest. The first was the bartender, a tall man and stout from many years with his hands on a rag or keg or glass and few gripping an axe or adze or other such ordinary work. Yoland Timms was his name, though he answered to it in many forms, be it "Yoland" or "Mister Yoland" or "Bartender" or "Sir" or, when the din of the assemblage became too much to bear, even such diminutives as "Hey Yo!". His shaggy brows would crease into a knotted brown mass upon his forehead at this last, though in deference to the patron's coin he seldom begrudged them their choice of words. His bar solidly occupying the very center of the high-beamed common hall, by his very presence and location he could scarcely be missed. As is typical for a first-day, there's not a seat to be found empty around his station, and many patrons lean in between the shoulders of those already sitting.

The second most powerful man in the Prancing Pony, perhaps in all of Bree or even all of Eriador, was the prize officer of Gondor. His short, whip-like form and unassuming visage would largely go unnoticed were it not for the solemn duty he bore on his war-weary shoulders: the burden of granting bounties to those who did the King's bidding in this part of the Reunited Kingdom. Gunther son of Gunwald sat his seat in the corner furthest the door, his smile a bit more forced than the rest, and his close-cropped hair and beard, speckled with numerous strands of white, glistened with sweat even with the cooling draft of a leaky wall up against his back for comfort; he had chosen the location specifically for this feature and not brought the spot to the attention of the proprietor. At least a half dozen men at any one time are clustered around the fellow's table, eager for tales and opportunities for gold, as such was the King's command: to drive out the dark remnants from the cities of old, and to restore the glory of the Numenorean ruins that dotted the northern kingdom of Arnor.

Third in popularity were the men of the Stalwart Merchant Company of Rohan, and more specifically their captain, Methendar the Bold. Gregarious and battle-scarred, his tales were nearly as legendary as those of the hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, on the occasions when one or the other would quit the Shire for an evening to visit Bree--which were becoming fewer and further between these days. The Company had come to the north seeking "entrepreneurs", as they said, for a profitable venture to strengthen the trade between Rohan and the north. Their speeches were often long on the details of adventures in the mountains between Isengard and Moria, replete with talk of the wild men of Dunland and the strange beasts of the high passes, and not uncommonly references to the greedy traders of Gondor and how they lined their pockets with the coin of Bree and Rohan with every barrel of pipeweed or head of horses that passed between the two. Methendar had the pleasing characteristic of being willing to pay for a man's ale unasked, and for that alone he garnered a substantial following each evening.

[Archmage1]

Sitting on one of the stools, a rugged looking dwarf drinks ale, moving easily, despite the chain mail hauberk he wears. A fine shield rests on his back, as he recovers from the rigors of a long month's worth of travel.

[Bounty Hunter]

Finnean Tossbottle

As the hive of activity bustled around him, Finnean moved deftly around or under the patrons of the packed establishment looking to find an empty chair or at least a section of wall he could lean on. Many of the peoples here were at least accustomed to hobbits being underfoot but once in a while someone not keeping an eye towards there feet would nearly bowl him over. Every so often he could catch a glimpse of Yoland Timms through the men pushing for a spot at the bar and trying to call out for his attention... but the young hobbit wasn't here for drinks, he had his mind set on a different prize. Gunther son of Gunwald was said to be offering the king's gold for those of able body who would explore the ruins of old and drive out whatever stagnant evils lurked within.

The table in the corner where the prize officer had taken up for the evening was of course packed with others looking for the same chance at more coins in their purses. The small hobbit got as close as he was able and tried to listen to what was being said.

[Anyr]

Robyn looked distinctly out of place amongst all these grizzled mercenaries. Aside from being very tall, there was little to distinguish her from an ordinary villager. The folk at eye level saw long hair and a slight frame; While the Hobbits below saw a skirt amidst a forest of trousers. Most Breeland locals knew better, of course. Robyn had already proven herself to them. But to the average outsider, her credentials as a warrior were very much in question. Well, no matter. Once she found a suitable group of companions, she'd surely be able to pass whatever tests they cared to devise.

[ChronicLunacy]

Aldwyn, Son of Varin

Taking up an alcove or booth along the wall adjacent to the door, where he could see those coming in, the bar, and the two popular men, one of Gondor the other of Rohan, along the back wall, sat a man in hardened leathers taking advantage of the relative coolness of the shadows there. He was obviously used to wearing the forest-green cloak that was piled next to him, but with the heat of the room he'd removed it so that he could breathe. His dirty-blonde hair hung limply as he pushed it away from his face, with its strong, unshaven jaw, high cheekbones, brown eyes, and a sharp, patrician nose. A swordbelt with two blades and a longbow occupied the seat next to him.

The human had used the small oil lamp set on the table before him to light his pipe, but had then pushed it to the opposite corner. He drank from a pewter tankard of slowly diminishing ale as he watched the room and waited for the press around the prize officer and the mercenary to thin.

[Amaril]

Pushing open the door, Amras found himself immediately assaulted by the heat, noise, and crowd of the common room, glad for it as a change from the winter chill outside. Hastily ducking in and shutting the portal behind him, he scanned around for a vacant seat, a daunting prospect. Still, a moment's searching revealed an unoccupied stool, which he immediately claimed, shrugging off his heavy pack and letting it fall to the floor against the leg of his seat. He spent a dearly welcome moment stretching out the soreness a day of hiking through the snow with all his gear on his back had left in his body, before casting an eye about again in search of the proprietor. "Hoy, barkeep! What's a fellow need to do for a beer in this place?"

[Anyr]

The woman who happened to be standing beside Amras gave him a wry grin.

"Well for a start, I'd recommend a more patient tone. The barkeep has more than enough business to fill his purse today. He can easily afford to 'overlook' a few disagreeable patrons."

Robyn eyed the newcomer with interest. His clothes and accent were a cut above that of the usual rabble. A noble, maybe?

[Amaril]

For a moment, Amras was a little offended, but he bit back a vitriolic retort. "You're right, of course," he said instead, chuckling. "It's been a hard day on the road, and I'm not at my best." He gave the woman a jaunty bow from his stool. "Amras, son of Arminas of Gondor, at your service. I hope I haven't soured your opinion of me too much."

[Archmage1]

The dwarf sitting next to Amras grumbles.
"I wouldn't call this swill beer... it has no flavor, no depth to it. But... it's what can be found in these lands. "

[Anyr]

Robyn returned the bow with good grace. After hearing this man introduce himself, she was pretty sure that he came from noble stock. And what's more, he apparently had a sense of humour. Some blue bloods could be serious snobs. Not a bad start. Of course, there was still plenty of time for her to be proven wrong on all counts. Maybe he was actually just a well-dressed fishmonger.

"Robyn, daughter of Theodore. And don't worry: I never place much faith in first impressions. So, what brings you to our humble village?"

[Mordae]

Yoland shows no signs of hearing Amras over the general din. He fills a few ales for a human couple at the far end of the bar, proffering them with a smile and a tip of his head before turning to tend to the foam dripping from the keg tap.

The prize officer is speaking in relatively low tones to a quartet of men gathered before him. Finneas is able to shoulder his way among the elbows and arrives to hear, "Annuminas. The High King has set the greatest bounty upon it, but if you ask me, you should try for Fornost first. It's more settled up along that road, less forested, and you won't be having to deal with crossing the Barrow-downs."

[Bounty Hunter]

Finnean Tossbottle

Wedging his way into the crowd, Finnean listens as the man explains that gold was to be paid for those who would clear out the old cities of the Kings of Arnor. Annuminas was said to have laid in ruins for over two thousand years now, sinking into the waters of the lake upon the shores which it was built, but the hobbit didn't know much at all about Fornost, or ruins of Norbury as the Shire-hobbits had taken to calling it. He knew it was along the north south road like the prize officer said but apart from its location not much else came to mind.

"Have any expeditions previously investigated the ruins?" the young hobbit will chime in as he's able among the rabble of those around him. "What news did they bring of the place?"

[Archmage1]

The dwarf looks much better as he finishes his ale(Poor quality though it might be, in his opinion), and he leaves a few coins on the table in payment, before he gets up, his feet hitting the floor with a resounding thump, before hea heads towards the corner, where the prize officer was speaking, surreptitiously wiping away some escaped foam.

[Amaril]

"Well," Amras pondered, "I suppose that's still to be seen, really. I haven't had much of a destination in mind for a while. But I've heard many are gathering here to seek their fortunes--I'd hoped that if I followed them, I'd find a purpose of my own." He shook his head a little, leaving his musing behind and returning to the moment. "Come to think of it, my lady, are you a local? If you know where there's work to be found here, a bit of direction would leave me in your debt." The girl didn't exactly strike him as anyone's lady, but a bit of flattery rarely went amiss.

[Anyr]

"Well if it's work you're after, you've come to the right place. See that short man over by the wall? That's the prize officer of Gondor. He's always offering bounties to anyone who'll fight back against the shadow. It's a nice earner and a good cause; Provided the monsters don't take your head, of course.

Or maybe you're more interested in trade than battle. The laughing man over there is none other than Methendar, of the Stalwart Merchant Company. He's here to recruit for a big new trading venture. Should have lots of travel, plenty of fresh air, and more than a few skirmishes. Plenty of ears are perking up at the prospect."

Robyn paused. Now that she'd made herself useful, it was time to extend some feelers.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to be looking for partners, would you? I happen to be in the mercenary business myself. Much as I'd love to snap up some of the opportunities around here, they're an uphill struggle when you're all alone. We'd both stand a much better chance if we fought side by side."

She kept a close eye on Amras' reaction. Some healthy scepticism on his part would be fine. Gods knew that Robyn was used to that. Capable as she was, she certainly didn't look like a soldier. So long as this man kept an open mind, she was sure she could assuage all his doubts.

[Mordae]

Finnean Tossbottle

Wedging his way into the crowd, Finnean listens as the man explains that gold was to be paid for those who would clear out the old cities of the Kings of Arnor. Annuminas was said to have laid in ruins for over two thousand years now, sinking into the waters of the lake upon the shores which it was built, but the hobbit didn't know much at all about Fornost, or ruins of Norbury as the Shire-hobbits had taken to calling it. He knew it was along the north south road like the prize officer said but apart from its location not much else came to mind.

"Have any expeditions previously investigated the ruins?" the young hobbit will chime in as he's able among the rabble of those around him. "What news did they bring of the place?"

"Truth be told, little man, only one party has gone up that way. They came back after a few days without much success--ran into a pack of wolves and one of them took a bite to the leg, so they came back to Bree to have the wound tended properly. Most of the other groups have been content to work in bringing the East-West Road to heel, and most particularly Weathertop and the old city beyond the South Downs--some call it Minas Eriol. Still others are south, reclaiming the crossing at Tharbad so as to rehabilitate the Greenway."

[Archmage1]

The dwarf, having wandered over to be near the prize officer, speaks up at this, his gruff voice reminding one of gravel.
"Sounds like that's the better opportunity, lad. The interesting things always happen where other people aren't. Why, I was patrolling one time, in the mines, when I started hearing this ticking sound. Now, this ticking wasn't the good ticking, picks on stone, it was a different one. So, I followed it, and after a while, I found it. One of the tunnels had a crack, in the lower left wall, and the ticking was coming from there. So, after checking that the stone was solid, I started to dig though it, and inside, was a cavern, crystals glowing with light, and water dripping down. It was quite remarkable."

[ShadowDragon]

Mazarien Orak'urnb

The door for the establishment swings open slowly, as a sleek figure hesitates for a moment, but eventually brings himself inside, appearing on the lamp light. His darker skin and his deep eyes - slightly decorated with a thin like of dark powder - attest for his foreign origin clearly, as does his exotic runed dark red cloak, which covers his face nose-down. The dust covering his clothings and his boots do speak for the miles this man must have walked just before reaching this place.

He moves into the main room rather shyly, avoiding even brushing against the other patrons, he eventually makes his way to the counter, taking up a stool and the one beside it, he lays a heavy backpack and takes his weary feet off the ground sighing in relief. Bringing down his face mask, he tries to call for the bartender in a heavy foreign accent "My good sir! The way has been long, so long, and my throat is dry as the plains of Mordor, while I'm glad to be under the roof of your honorable establishment, I would ask you to further make my night and bring me your best wine... that I could afford.", finishing with a rather unsure smile, he waits for some kind of acknowledgement while looking around at the other patrons by the bar.

[Bounty Hunter]

Finnean Tossbottle

The hobbit sighs to himself for the briefest of moments at the sound of being called 'little man' but he tries not to let the annoyance show through. He listens as the dwarf chimes in with a story about mining after ticking sounds, and while interesting, he felt it seemed a bit more reminiscent than related to the topic at hand... then again that may have just been his eagerness for the adventure ahead shining though. "What are the terms of the job?" He calls out towards the officer when there is a moment to chime in the conversation.

[ShadowDragon]

Mazarien Orak'urnb

While waiting for his drink - if it ever comes - the foreigner rummages through his backpack, dusting it off in the process, seemingly looking if all his traveling gear is in order, while he does so, a glimpse or two of a bronze chainmail can be seen under his heavy cloak. Taking them from his back, he lays against the counter three long polearms, their business end covered in rough fabric.

[Amaril]

The woman's assertion that she was in the mercenary business herself was a surprise to Amras, to say the least, but he didn't let it show. He knew well that appearances could deceive, and until he saw proof otherwise, it seemed only fair to take her at her word. Whether or not he could work with her was another matter, but, considering it, he would be greatly helped by a companion who knew the region...and he couldn't deny she was intriguing, in her way.

His mind made up, Amras nodded. "I'd be happy to join you. Shall we drink to our partnership? You're probably higher in the barkeep's esteem than I am," he chuckled.

[Anyr]

Well, that had gone much better than usual. The deal was sealed without so much as a raised eyebrow. How refreshing! Robyn's opinion of this diplomatic stranger had definitely risen a notch or two. His suggestion about alcoholic refreshment met with her hearty approval as well.

"Yes, let's do just that! One moment, good sir!"

She returned a minute or so later, with a smile on her face and two tankards in her hands. She set the brew down, snagged a stool that had just that second been vacated, and sat down opposite her new partner.

"Cheers!"

Spoiler: OOC

Show

For the sake of speeding things along, I went ahead and assumed that Robyn could get the barkeep's attention. It seemed like the sort of minor perk that her 'Rustic Hospitality' feature would cover.

[Mordae]

Mazarien Orak'urnb

The door for the establishment swings open slowly, as a sleek figure hesitates for a moment, but eventually brings himself inside, appearing on the lamp light. His darker skin and his deep eyes - slightly decorated with a thin like of dark powder - attest for his foreign origin clearly, as does his exotic runed dark red cloak, which covers his face nose-down. The dust covering his clothings and his boots do speak for the miles this man must have walked just before reaching this place.

He moves into the main room rather shyly, avoiding even brushing against the other patrons, he eventually makes his way to the counter, taking up a stool and the one beside it, he lays a heavy backpack and takes his weary feet off the ground sighing in relief. Bringing down his face mask, he tries to call for the bartender in a heavy foreign accent "My good sir! The way has been long, so long, and my throat is dry as the plains of Mordor, while I'm glad to be under the roof of your honorable establishment, I would ask you to further make my night and bring me your best wine... that I could afford.", finishing with a rather unsure smile, he waits for some kind of acknowledgement while looking around at the other patrons by the bar.

The arrival of the darker-skinned eastern man produces a bit of surprise and consternation. While at first he has to work his way cautiously among the crowd, after a few steps the men practically melt out of his path, giving him wary looks as he continues to the bar unopposed. Perhaps it has something to do with the lengthy polearms that he had strapped to his back, or perhaps his foreign origin. Either way, the mild commotion is enough to draw the attention of the normally too-busy-to-be-bothered Mister Yoland, who makes his way down to the far end to meet his new guest.

"Ho there," he begins, hesitating--perhaps uncertain as to whether the typical pleasantries are appropriate given the invocation of Mordor in the conversation. After an awkward half-beat, he carries on. "I suppose before I can suggest that my best wines will be in your price range, I'll have to see your coin."

The fact that the newcomer is ordering a drink seems to reduce the concerned curiosity of the crowd, who gradually resume their previous activities albeit with occasional glances Mazarien's way.

Finnean Tossbottle

The hobbit sighs to himself for the briefest of moments at the sound of being called 'little man' but he tries not to let the annoyance show through. He listens as the dwarf chimes in with a story about mining after ticking sounds, and while interesting, he felt it seemed a bit more reminiscent than related to the topic at hand... then again that may have just been his eagerness for the adventure ahead shining though. "What are the terms of the job?" He calls out towards the officer when there is a moment to chime in the conversation.

"Relatively straightforward, I can assure you, good sir hobbit, though I will not trivialize the challenge of ruins lain low more than an age ago. The King desires that a safe haven be constructed for his engineers to begin their work and his garrison to protect them. To that end, shelters are needed on site for a hundred men, as well as establishment and security for sources of fresh water and storage of dry goods. Your work is subject to inspection by myself and, upon satisfactory completion, a sum of one thousand tharni for every structure suitable to house twenty men will be remitted to your company. In addition, a bounty of one hundred tharni for the right hand of every orc or right forepaw of every fell beast shall be paid upon delivery here in Bree. Any men found striving against the King's wishes must be brought back alive to face tribunal, whereupon a bounty of two hundred tharni will be paid."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

A tharni is a silver coin of Gondor.

[ChronicLunacy]

Aldwyn, Son of Varin

"Perhaps you have another bounty for those of us more interested in hunting orcs?" came a voice with a bit of a Gondorian accent from over the halfling's head, just to the right. The tall human with the pipe had come over to join the group around the prize officer, listening to what needed doing. He wasn't much of a builder, unless a lean-to or fence counted, and preferred to keep moving. Collecting orc and goblin hands was more to his interest, but not settling down anywhere, even for a short time. He crossed his arms and tapped the stem of his pipe against his shoulder as he waited for the other man's answer.

[ShadowDragon]

"Ho there," he begins, hesitating--perhaps uncertain as to whether the typical pleasantries are appropriate given the invocation of Mordor in the conversation. After an awkward half-beat, he carries on. "I suppose before I can suggest that my best wines will be in your price range, I'll have to see your coin."

Slightly taken aback, Mazarien straightens himself upon the stool, clears his throat and continues "Oh is that so, then? Hmm... Then I might have been ill-informed on the hospitality of the western cities, a wee bit. You see, I was counting on that, for the long trip I spoke of earlier drained every last coin out of my pockets." he raises one eyebrow, smirking slightly, "Though shall we not fuss over it, Mazarien Orak'urnb is no beggar, and will be more than willing to work his hands, good sir.", he pauses briefly, tilting his head to the side a bit "As long as one good sir is willing to point the right direction and help his friend, that is."

[Bounty Hunter]

Finnean Tossbottle

"Hmmm." Finnean says, an air of hesitation creeping into his voice despite his efforts to hide it. He'd be dreaming of high adventure and exploring the wild world and wasn't sure what to think about a job ensuring shelter was built for a few workers. There was the bounty hunting of course, but he wondered if that would draw enough interest to form a suitable force to escort the workers. "So we're to clear the site and build first then report back with the bounties and request your inspection? Or will be traveling with your lord's workers as escorts? Does that mean we're in charge of supplying the materials or is that part of the contract?"

[Amaril]

"Cheers," Amras echoed, flashing a grin as he brought his flagon to his lips. He was surprised at the quality of the brew for a moment, but it occurred to him that even in parts such as these, a place doing such a swift business as the Prancing Pony would easily be able to afford good drink.

"Well, then," he said as he rose from his seat, bringing his mug with him, "shall we see what his lordship the prize officer has to offer?" He liked the thought of exploring the old ruins--such ancient grandeur, such history, beckoned him to see it for himself.

[Anyr]

"We shall indeed. Isn't it amazing how we think so much alike?"

Robyn was really enjoying herself. She'd never had a partner before. If gathering the rest of her future companions proved this easy, then they'd be ready to go in no time. She weaved her way through the crowd with a newfound spring in her step. As she approached the prize officer's table, a familiar voice floated up from around waist level. She cast her eyes downwards to behold the source.

"Finnean! Now here's a pleasant surprise. Are you on the lookout for adventure as well?"

Robyn rather liked Finnean. Troublesome as he could be sometimes, the two of them had plenty in common. They both had ambitions which society deemed 'improper'; And the willingness to tell society exactly what it could do with that opinion.

[Mordae]

Slightly taken aback, Mazarien straightens himself upon the stool, clears his throat and continues "Oh is that so, then? Hmm... Then I might have been ill-informed on the hospitality of the western cities, a wee bit. You see, I was counting on that, for the long trip I spoke of earlier drained every last coin out of my pockets." he raises one eyebrow, smirking slightly, "Though shall we not fuss over it, Mazarien Orak'urnb is no beggar, and will be more than willing to work his hands, good sir.", he pauses briefly, tilting his head to the side a bit "As long as one good sir is willing to point the right direction and help his friend, that is."

Yoland looks for a moment as though he is going to deliver some sort of retort. As he looks into the eyes of the easterner, however, his skepticism seems to soften just a bit. "Well, I suppose a bit of bread and soup is in order, and wine. The shadow is past, and if you'll be a scullion for the night I'll gladly take the help." He gestures to a small door at the back of the bar. "Stow your gear there, if you would; I won't have my patrons tripping over poleaxes and spears and such."

Finnean Tossbottle

"Hmmm." Finnean says, an air of hesitation creeping into his voice despite his efforts to hide it. He'd be dreaming of high adventure and exploring the wild world and wasn't sure what to think about a job ensuring shelter was built for a few workers. There was the bounty hunting of course, but he wondered if that would draw enough interest to form a suitable force to escort the workers. "So we're to clear the site and build first then report back with the bounties and request your inspection? Or will be traveling with your lord's workers as escorts? Does that mean we're in charge of supplying the materials or is that part of the contract?"

"Tent canvas will be provided as well as a wagon to haul it in, but the framing you'll have to provide for yourself. No sense hauling timber all over Eriador, naturally--there's enough woodland to go around. Your job is to clear the site and prepare the tents, then report back for bounties and inspection. We've no need to send common folk without strong self-preservation skills into a work site potential teaming with orcs and wargs and what-have-you. The engineers, laborers, and garrison will follow once the site is declared--by me--to be safe for occupation."

Aldwyn, Son of Varin

"Perhaps you have another bounty for those of us more interested in hunting orcs?" came a voice with a bit of a Gondorian accent from over the halfling's head, just to the right. The tall human with the pipe had come over to join the group around the prize officer, listening to what needed doing. He wasn't much of a builder, unless a lean-to or fence counted, and preferred to keep moving. Collecting orc and goblin hands was more to his interest, but not settling down anywhere, even for a short time. He crossed his arms and tapped the stem of his pipe against his shoulder as he waited for the other man's answer.

"Hmm? Perhaps you had best seek out the Dunedain to the east, then, if that's your goal. They do that and more, and without pay to boot. My duty is to oversee the rebuilding of the King's cities, not to scour the countryside. Or check with those merchants over yonder; I hear tell they're headed into rough country near Moria, and that might be enough to spoil for a fight."

[Archmage1]

The dwarf remains silent, allowing others to speak, and ask the questions.